Follow You Through Time - Part 2
by Danny441004
Summary: Continuing America's adventure! Anne was supposed to be magicked home, but it seems the core manifestation of Arthur's magic had different plans! Anne finds herself even further back, to a time she thought was only a simple bedtime story her father used to read to her. She finds her father even more different that any incarnation she knew-this one is a legend; a King!
1. Prologue

Part 2: The King

Prologue:

She hit. She hit hard. And crumpled to the ground. It was really hard to actually feel anything; as if her mind was lagging like a glitching computer. But she definitely heard a long string of a sort-of familiar language. She understood that it was probably a long string of curses—somehow, she knew that much. But it was a language she only vaguely recognized, but from where? When?

And more importantly, she realized, she couldn't really move. Her body was so tired and tender from pain. Her eyes were blurred and dimmed, sound crackled and static, and the air was bitterly cold and damp. She'd been turned over to her back with hands prodding her face. She couldn't respond. Couldn't react. She thought she heard herself whimper when she was finally, harshly, tugged upward and slung over a hard, but blissfully warm surface. But before she blanked out, she sensed she was being carried by something and that 'something' moved. Slowly. Steadily in rhythms with a thump-thump-thump in blunted noise.

Poor, poor Alistair. Why was it always him that took the worst hits, eh? Eire would argue that it was because heaven was punishing him for being a Scot; really, he was just asking for it, being built like an ox. _Stupid little troll!_ But despite being trampled by livestock, by hordes of enemies trying to break his and his men's ranks in battle, by falling rocks—well, Alistair had to admit having a person thrown at him was a first. Maybe the cosmos did have it out for him. He'd have to think on that...or have Rhys think on it—he was the philosophizing wizard-man now. Alistair almost snorted. Myrddin, indeed. Their eldest must feel so clever now. Hmph!

Even so, when he was sent to investigate a spike in magic, he wasn't expecting a girl to come flying out of a portal—and certainly not at him. That had fucking hurt. Again, why was it always him? He grunted as he adjusted his hold. Thinking on it, he supposed he should've investigated longer; see if the girl was some manner of dark fae or whatnot, but damn it all, he wasn't about to cast alone. Not in these times when the potential for dark casters still in _her _service could surface. Nah, better to bring her about to be confined and then all the brothers could decide what to do with her encroaching in the new kingdom. Besides, they'd weeded out most already and things were going to start get boring what with their youngest taking the royal duties, thinking he can just order them about (the little brat), and just...it was boring.

After so many years, decades, centuries of battle...sitting about deciding laws and ugh—_taxes_ would just make him want to fling himself from the keep. Alba was meant for, was made for, battling. He thrived on it. He wondered if he'd always be that way, even as he slowly but inevitably aged, or if he'd finally settle. If he even lived long enough to _be_ considered elder. His mother, before she passed after they'd finally pushed that damned Rome out, always referred to the brothers as "boys", _her boys_, and indeed, they were all rather young when compared to some other immortals. But. But after so much time had passed without her...they'd become men. Grown. Hardy. And hardened. Their own respective kingdoms and peoples.

Point is, he couldn't stand being bored and bringing something dangerous about could make things interesting. This creature couldn't be all terrible, after all, she'd been thrashed travelling a portal. Only novice casters had that trouble.

He'd finally made it to his horse, unsteadily placing the creature he'd ...found...upon it to ease his burden and walk back to the castle. And prayed that this wasn't more trouble than it was worth. The whole of it. Building a kingdom, letting their magic out into the open, and letting their kind be known to mortals...it was dangerous, he thought. Mortals weren't supposed to know of their kind. They weren't supposed to ken the personifications of a kingdom—the people's literal interpretation in a human-like form. Being seen as some manner of Witch was one thing, this—this was different.

Alistair sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, and patting his horse who snuffled contentedly. He'd treat the steady beast with a nice, extra serving of oats. It had served him very well for some time now. He sighed again upon the clearing, for the castle was in sight.

"Well then, away we go, eh boy?" The horse snorted at him, "Back to Camelot, then."


	2. Chapter 1

1 -

Anne was jolted awake by being unceremoniously thrown to a gritty, stone floor. She yelped as her shoulder smarted and tried to push herself to stand, but her muscles were still to strained to hold her steady and they gave in seconds. The space was drafty, dusty, and... kind of mildew-y. Ew. That'll attack her sinuses for sure. Where was she? Did the spell backfire? What happened? She wished her eyes and head didn't hurt so much. It made thinking hard.

"_This_ is what came out of the portal? Are you certain?" the manner of speaking was strange, Anne thought; kind of jumbled with words that _were_ English, but seemed to be pronounced strangely.

"Aye. I would know, after all, it knocked me on my arse." Another spoke gruffly.

"And you thought it prudent to bring it here? Could be a danger to the kingdom!"

"Ach, does it look like a threat to you?"

"We couldn't possibly know could we!?" Whoever was talking all upset, Anne thought, must be upset a lot. His voice was gritty from overuse. And the sound, all the noise, echoed distantly in the space giving her already ringing ears a vibrating headache. "She could be working for _her_!"

"Yeh really think she'd send something like this? Send _us_ a _child_; who cannae handle a trip through the portals."

"A trap then." the voice growled while the other scoffed. "An attempt to prey on our sympathies."

"Yer paranoid now. There is no dark magic coming from her, she wasn't hurt by the kingdom's barrier. Don't be so hasty, yet. Oi!"

Anne heard the swift singing of a blade being pulled. It was a sound she knew well, what with growing up on stories of the distant past. Her family had a marvelous collection of swords that she'd been often scolded for touching as a child when she wanted to play. She heard the gruff sounding one shuffle quickly towards her and the other take purposeful steps near as well.

"Hold on now. Oi! Albion!"

_Albion_. Anne knew that name. She'd heard it so many times over her life; from living around her uncles. They'd all had various names through their very long lives, as their nations grew and changed; as the people changed. She knew it, that name, so well. But she'd never used it. It wasn't how she knew him. No, he was always "father" to her. _Dad. Oh my god, _she thought, _she'd found him again. Somewhere else!_

_"_Wait..." she croaked out wincing; her throat was raw. "Please wait."

"Silence. I did not give you permission to speak."

"Are you planning to just slaughter a person, little brother? Is this what your vengeance has devolved to?" Another voice came from another part of the space and Anne tried to shift to seek it, but she could barely move. She couldn't even look up at her captors.

"Ack! Cymru! How long yeh been lurking there?!"

"Long enough, Alba. Now then, stay your hand, Arthur. You should hear her first."

"Should I?"

"Aye. You should." her uncle's voice was firm. She knew it was them; knew their voices. So, it was her Uncle Alistair who found her. And it was her Uncle Rhys who just appeared. Her father growled and made to approach again and her Scottish uncle stepped even closer; tense, ready to pounce.

"Lift her up then." And Anne felt large hands carefully pull her up, whimpered from the pain of it, and made to sit on her knees. But the hands never left, they remained firm and steady on her, with one moving to lift her head under her chin. While she hated being manhandled, she wouldn't have been able to do much without assistance. _Truly the mighty have fallen, _she thought.

"Speak then. Who are you? Why are you here?"

Anne gulped at the slightly fuzzy image of her father who stood straight, peering harsh down to her, in...in _armor_. The green eyes she knew seemed to glow, as eyes would during fever. And like her last trip through time, he held a blade to her neck. But this one...this one seemed to vibrate with warm energy. It was large and imposing, as she felt as if the sword itself was pulling _something_ from her.

"M-my name is Anne. I've been falling through time. The first time was accidental. This time was supposed to send me home, but somehow, I came to be here."

"You expect us to believe _you_ cast time magic."

"No, you cast it. To help me." Her father sputtered a moment in shock, before snarling something that sounded like _you-dare-lie-to-my-face. _But her Uncle Rhys suddenly became very interested, for he drew very close, gently nudging her father's strange sword out of his way; Arthur only complying so as to not cut his elder brother. He examined Anne very closely, eyes scrutinizing, she could tell because this close, she could see him clearly. He looked so much _younger_ than she remembered. _How far back did I go this time?! _And he wore what appeared to be robes of a sort with intricate embroidery. It was hard to look away from, everything about him seemed to shine with energy.

"Look at me, child." he softly commanded. Anne glanced towards sharp hazel orbs that focused inwards to her senses. _How strange, _she thought, _like he is here...in here._

_"__Be calm. I will not harm your mind."_ Anne jolted from the voice in her mind; it seemed to come from all directions. And it may have instructed her to be calm, but the moment was anything but. She trembled, fearful, at what she could only describe as invasion. It was like the ghosts she was so terrified of; it was something intangible. Something that, no matter how strong she was, she can't actually fight off. She wanted to get away, but her Scottish uncle held her firmly in place.

"Be still." But she tried to pull away. She whimpered a 'no', shutting her eyes, and beginning to struggle. "Hush now; tis alright."

"Aye. Stay still, or I will end up hurtin' yeh." Alistair grumbled, clearly uncomfortable at the unexpected turn of events. Her father, who been silent so far, finally 'tsked' in annoyance.

"Be still, girl!" The sword making its way back to point to her sternum, Rhys nimbly shifting away from the sword in alarm, but the tip of the blade had tinged against something dangling from her neck. It was whatever her father had given her in the 1600s before trying to send her home. The contact between the two metals was only a second, but it was enough to spark, literally, a reaction. One that sent her father flying backwards and the air to leave her lungs. Her Uncle Alistair let out a loud curse, letting her go, and complained that his arms were singed, while Rhys seemed fascinated at the pendant. Arthur recovered quickly, brandishing the sword, and ready to strike.

"Step aside, Mryddin!"

"I think not." Rhys only smirked and knelt before her. Anne, while grateful for the spike of adrenaline and clearer sight, was slightly afraid of what would happen next. She didn't do magic and yet somehow, she managed, the _necklace_ managed, to send her father flying...and he was furious.

"I command you—"

"Oi, little brother," Alistair growled, "Yeh don't command _us_."

"I am the Ki—"

"Over humans! Tha' doesnae apply to us! Don't forget who helped put you there!" Both her kin seemed to be slowly gaining on the other as they loudly argued back and forth. Something Rhys primly ignored with a huff and moved to examine the pendant.

"No wait...it might...react..."

"It won't. I mean no harm, after all; it is merely a prote—" he stopped short, smirk gone, and held the pendant closer to his sharp eyes. Anne finally took a closer look as well. It was a slightly large, rounded thing with an intricate carving on it. All rounded and the sharp loops and points on one side. The other looked like an intricate crest of arms of a sort. Her uncle stared hard at it, and then to her. After a moment, he gave the slightest of smiles and continued blithely on as if the pendant hadn't startled him, "As I was saying, the pendant is merely a protective charm, isn't it?"

"I...yes?" the Welshman simply chuckled at her response.

"It is. A very powerful one, indeed." Anne glanced down to the necklace dangling idly. Her father gave her a protection charm. He'd given her protection. Anne wanted to cry suddenly. In the short time she was there in the 17th century, she'd learned so much about her father and her uncles from their stories. But even then, her father had been a bit stand-off-ish with her, even when curious. He'd accepted the facts as they were, but there was still none of the great affection he'd displayed when he found her in the wilderness as a toddler. Perhaps because she wasn't a toddler during that meeting...or because he had learned of her revolution. She learned so much and yet she still felt so far away from them. "Needn't fear, little one."

"I needn't?"

"You will not be harmed here...by any one of us."

"Myrddin!" Arthur snapped from his place in the headlock that Alistair had put him in during Anne's distraction. _Huh, didn't even notice._ Anne blinked at the scene. The earlier adrenaline was already starting to fade.

"After all, we are all family here, and we protect our family." That seemed to stop everyone short.

"Wot?" "What's tha'?" the other two asked simultaneously. Rhys merely nodded to them.

"Mm. Exactly as I said, _family_. "

"Explain, please."

"Aye, an' no riddles! An' how come Rhys gets a 'please' but yeh try to give _me_ orders! Eh?"

"Quiet, Alistair!" Arthur admonished, but Alistair only growled and shoved him hard enough that Arthur nearly mis-stepped.

"Both of you, enough!" Rhys sighed heavily, exasperated, throwing an apologetic glance towards Anne who was trying to curl in to support her own weight, and keep her father's attention on her at a minimum. "Honestly, you two...compose yourselves this instant. We have a guest to attend to."

"Brother..."

"She is family, as I said, Alis. _Your_ daughter, Arthur. She bears your sigil and our family crest. Only kin could possibly have such a talisman; it only works with blood-kin. If you lot were not so distracted, you might have noticed." Alistair swiftly approached again to look at her more closely, grasping her chin to turn her face back and forth in curiosity.

"Lucky yeh got the handsome family traits from us and none of yer father's unfortunate looks." Anne heard her father sputtering in the background. She didn't want to point out, however, that all the brothers looked alike. "Heh, look at yeh though...yer here...Yer_ here_." her Scottish uncle gave a rather disarming smile that threw her off-guard a bit. He patted her cheek and stood to glance at Arthur who stood rooted to his spot, carefully watching her, but little expression.

"Oi, what're yeh standin' there for?"

Anne thought he looked a little bewildered, unsure of what to do, which she could sympathize with, but the last time...the last time, once he'd figured who she was, he stayed close...reacted immediately. But he just stared, almost dispassionately, at her.

"Oi, Albion!" "Arthur..." It was getting harder for Anne to hold herself up.

"It's alright," she finally said, dry throat sharply twinging in protest, "I was a bit of a surprise last time too." She tried to shift, but her arms gave, and with a small gasp she crumpled back down to the floor. Arthur gave a small 'oh' as she crumbled, and took a hesitant step forward. Her uncles, being nearer, quickly rushed in to help her up. "I'm sorry. I was weakened traveling before, but I fear it is worse this time around."

"Yeh'av'been travling a while then?"

"Yes, I...as I said, the first time was an accident. This time...well, everyone was trying to send me back to my time. I don't know what happened to send me here." The two holding her shared alarmed looks before trying to help her stand.

"Don't yeh worry, lass. We'll handle it."

"Handle what?" Came another voice. Anne saw her Irish uncle, Reilly, saunter in from another corner. He glanced about the scene before him in confusion for a bit.

"So..." He started, "What did I miss?"


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you for your patience! I'm getting really stuck!

Ch. 2 -

Anne was sure her brain had short-circuited. It was one thing that her father was wearing weird armor, but he was...he was _king_. No, not just that—he was _King Arthur! _The one from the stories she loved to hear about as a child. The whole time they had been _his_ stories. And Uncle Rhys was Merlin, or Myrddin or whatever the name was. Uncle Reilly, once he met her, seemed to talk a mile a minute as he volunteered to help her to a room to clean up and rest. It was hard to keep up with since he seemed to tell her a plethora of little things, from the past winter to the latest dance his people had created, and a few info-bombs, like her father being king. And then just...kind of left her there...in the care of these women. They were great, really, they were, but the facts just tore through her brain, and she promptly fainted.

Arthur sat heavily in his chair at the great table. When Eire returned after taking his...their...their _guest_ to her chambers, he prompted them for more details, but they didn't have much. Rhys refused to tell them what he had gleaned from her mind. It had worried Arthur for various reasons; what was he hiding from them and pushing into a person's mind as Rhys was notorious for doing was dangerous. Arthur knew that; once Rhys had mastered the technique it had become a go-to in interrogation, sometimes with terrible results. He'd felt Rhys was cocky about it; too eager to use it. Though it had proven effective against usurpers and followers of _her_. And Arthur had been on the receiving end of it; it wasn't always pleasant. It was even worse when he refused to share what he had seen. Just expected them to take his word at everything.

Alistair had surprised him by taking everything in stride. Was practically excited that they had a new member of their family. Arthur couldn't understand his brother sometimes. In fact, he distinctly remembered growing up, himself toddling around their shared little hut with mother, his elder sibling was not known for his kindness. While not blatantly cruel, he didn't hesitate to berate or fight any of them. Arthur hated when mother set Alistair to be his watcher for the day. His brother was an arse; seemed to resent having to watch him anytime. He knew his brother would protect him, but he also knew his brother was not gentle. At all. Arthur grimaced; stretching his sore neck from the headlock earlier. Alistair didn't seem the type to want family, save mother, more occasionally Rhys, but Arthur was sure Alistair resented him. So why was he suddenly so happy for a niece? A niece that was apparently borne of his least favored brother?

_His daughter._ Arthur had trouble holding that fact. He never imagined...never dared. He was...too young, even at centuries old. Arthur caught is reflection in his goblet, seeing the youthful face staring back. The girl looked older than he was! She looked closer to Rhys in physical age. She looked more like Rhys in general, he thought, souring. But even through time, he couldn't have possibly...Rhys was older and thus seemed the more likely candidate to be able to sire a nation; his magic was well established. Arthur may be king, but Mryddin was the most sought advisor. And she was a nation...but from where? When? It just didn't seem possible.

Siring a nation, as his mother had done, was a dream. A dream he thought never to be in his reach. The world was too dangerous now. Morganna may have been defeated, but her influence still plagued the land. It was the most precarious of times. What could they do?

"So, we have to send her back?" Eire was leaning against the hands propped on the table, already several glasses on ale in. Arthur scowled at him, but the man only winked in return and poured himself another goblet-full. Honestly, why was he still here? Didn't he have an island to get back to? At least Alistair and Rhys were making themselves useful. Save riding out a few messages and scouting with Alistair, the third son in their little family, hardly did anything. A fact he profusely denied. _You just can't glean at all the work I do! Just ask Rhys! Its errand after errand! I do many things! Not sitting there like a log like you!_ Arthur rolled his eyes, but looked to Rhys anyway who only nodded, all serious.

"Is that even possible?" Arthur couldn't help but wonder. Time was a forbidden magic to them. In all their lessons it had been stressed over and over to steer from it because one risked the very cosmos with it. And now to find out, according to the girl's story which Arthur still had trouble reconciling, they'd tried casting it already. But it sent her further back. So... they'd failed. Casting dangerous magic, siring a child; Arthur still couldn't swallow it. It just couldn't be possible. Perhaps she wasn't his, _really_. Maybe she was one of his brothers', but wouldn't she have known who her father was? Was that something Rhys was keeping from them? Because wouldn't Arthur have been able to sense a child of his, as their mother had always been able to sense them? The more Arthur thought on that line though...if she was actually one of his brother's children...did they...did they reject her? And he was the one to take her in?

Would his brothers be capable of such cruelty?

The shortest answer would be yes. They all had that streak. Had to cultivate it for the past war. All manner of dark magic to survive the onslaught _she_ wrought. Power mad hag!

But could they do such a thing to one of their own? Arthur couldn't imagine it so.

"It shall not be easy, that much is certain, but we have no choice than to try."

"And what if we kill her? She looked as if she barely survived her last trip, and that was us trying to help her about."

"I have an idea, perhaps. But either way we must try. She cannot stay here or she really will, eventually, die. This is not her time, and the cosmos will try to right itself. She would be the one to pay the price." Rhys' words, while they rang true, still made Arthur's stomach churn with unease. This was all too strange. He couldn't imagine himself as a father, not now, though he knew he would eventually wish to be one, but it didn't stop the worry over her predicament. And it came with in intense guilt. He'd been ready to cut her down. Heaven help him; what if he had? Was the universe tormenting him? Was it because he had Excaliber? They Lady of the Lake had warned him that his sword would serve him well in the pursuit of justice and good for his kingdom, but it could exact a heavy price should he ever stray from his duty; if he ever sullied the enchanted sword. The sword's magic would backfire and he would be cursed forever.

He been anxious when he felt the spike in magic, but he couldn't identify it like all the others he felt. This past spike, while he did not sense anything evil from it, it did feel wholly familiar. And it unsettled him. Morganna had once been a great friend to him; she knew his magic. Perhaps she had learned to imitate it in order to catch him off guard. It was why he was wary at first. It had been a very messy war, but she'd lost her magic and fled. She could be acting through another magic user. Hence, they still hunted her. For she would stop at nothing to destroy the brothers.

But Arthur wouldn't let her. No, he was King now. And he would protect his kingdom.

In the present:

Rhys let out a tired sigh and sat heavily in a plush armchair of their hotel room. This was one hardship after the other. Disasters atop of the other. Arthur had not woken since the spell went awry, but thankfully was still _there_ with them. His mind had not been lost. But he seemed to be stuck in some manner of terrible dream; one which Rhys could not penetrate. Arthur's own magic, which was thrumming so potently, stifled the room. It placed a very firm barrier around his brother's mind and Rhys could not enter. Was his magic protecting him?

It was hard to figure. Perhaps his magic sensed the impending danger of an open portal, or that it was being pushed to its limits, and thus protected itself and simply shut down. Arthur had always been the rather paranoid type; figures his magic would manifest similarly. He ran his fingers over his eyes and they squeezed shut from a coming headache. Reilly had sustained an actual injury, a stray blast when Arthur's magic reacted, had managed to give him a pretty good slice on his side. Luckily, Alistair moved fast to staunch the wound, which would require stitches. Rhys glanced over to see his Irish brother, recently returned from the local A & E, passed out on a sleeper sofa. Alistair was probably smoking.

Damn it all. They had been so close. Rhys had felt her energy and then suddenly it had been snatched away..._snatched_. Interesting choice of word, Rhys thought. He'd been so concerned for his brothers that he didn't think over the feeling of what happened to his niece. He felt a little guilty about that, but he'd focused on the more immediate threat which was a violently collapsing portal. Portals traveled through the ether, and very few things could simply exist within it. The energy was so chaotic one could be torn to pieces. That's why in travel one had to be careful, but to hover there, to exist there was practically impossible. Some dark creatures could manage for a time, but even they had to emerge eventually.

So, what could've have snatched her up? Or was she pulled back to the past she was in—no, there were no new memories. Rhys had threaded his hands together and settled himself to think on it.

_The ether was an in-between space, full of energies. In theory, they can manifest in many different ways_. _A not-quite-sentience. Magic was natural; instinctual in nature. The most primordial of thought-processes if one could even call it that. It was why such things as the elements could be wielded, but never subjugated. But it could, technically, take any form. With enough intent, magic could take form. With enough emotion infused in it, magic could manifest into something akin to a being unto us and act accordingly; albeit temporarily. It was possible...in theory. But for such a thing...the magic would have to be incredibly powerful... or at least incredibly potent. Was this an attack? Was the whole thing an attack? After all, Arthur is trapped in his mind; Reilly was nearly sliced in half. _

Alistair had sat before Rhys and flicked the Welshman's forehead to get him to open his eyes. Rhys gave a tired glare to his younger brother who just looked angry. But that was Alba, always. He was a man of action. When things were wrong and he wanted to right it, he expected a goal, or target, for him to attack. Having neither at the moment, with the two youngest brothers down and he had nothing to show for it, no token or herald of vengeance, he felt useless. And he hated it, so he just stewed. Arthur constantly berated Alistair for his more hands on, and sometimes violent, approaches to their problems. Rhys, however, had always found it rather endearing, if not a little exasperating at times. But Alba's heart was always in the right place, so Rhys always forgave it.

Rhys was the long thinker. And he knew it agitated all his siblings who, even as small children, expected him to have the answers right away. He was the eldest and took the title seriously, but for all his vast knowledge he didn't always have all the answers. He wasn't meant to; no one was. Not even Mother. But he tried his best anyway. So, he patiently waited for Alistair to break the silence with whatever troubled him, aside from the obvious.

"Where did we go wrong?" Alistair was trying to keep his voice in check, but it was a struggle and made him want to smoke another cigarette, but he knew it wouldn't help.

"_We_ didn't necessarily do anything wrong."

"Then what?"

"Portals are inherently unstable, you know that. All precautions could be taken, but it does not guarantee anything."

"Aye the portal collapsed, but there was something else, wasn't there." At that Rhys raised an intrigued eyebrow to which Alistair glared, "You're not the only smart one, you know. Just because the other two are morons doesnae mean that I am." his teeth ground. Rhys just smiled, amused, when he heard his younger sibling mutter _arse._

"Something pulled her back; you're right. As to what, I am unsure. And where she is, I do not know. I was hoping that perhaps one of us would experience a vision, but thus far I have not seen anything." Alistair sighed and shook his head in the negative. "I'm so sorry, Alistair, but I'm afraid there isn't much we can do yet. It is still too dangerous to approach Stonehenge, but when we can we must try to see what we can find; perhaps some clue." Alistair just looked so upset that Rhys couldn't help but apologize.

"Do you think she's alright?" And this is why Rhys always forgave his rather rough sibling. Because he _cared;_ he cared very much.

"We can only hope at this point, and take comfort that she has always been strong and notorious for surviving the bizarre and the dire."

"Aye, a Kirkland through and through. She was borne into greatness." the Scotsman smiled. He loved his niece, by virtue of being blood, but also because she was so different. So endearingly strange; so lively and defiant, a fighter, it made her a joy to be around. He was her favorite uncle; a point of pride for him. Had Alistair ever sired a nation, and heaven knows he had tried, he wondered if they'd have been like her. Bright-eyed and adventurous. He hoped they would've been. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and saw Rhys smiling, a little sadly, to him.

"What a world that would've been, brother."

"To be a father." he nodded and Rhys stood, hand still on his shoulder, leaning forward to touch foreheads, because hugging was awkward. And pulled away, hand squeezing, before excusing himself.

_Sometimes_, Alistair thought sadly, _sometimes life wasn't fair._

In the past:

Anne awoke to fretting ladies who were relieved that she finally came to. A...doctor...of sorts had been fetched and tried to have her drink some manner of tonic that smelled rancid. The old man left with a grim set to his mouth when she refused, and the ladies fretted more. The helped her anyway. She was bathed, dressed, and in between every moment, food was readily on hand. Anne could only take In a few bites at a time anyway. But at the very least, she had to concede the best part was the clothing they gave her. No corset. None. Nada. And it was glorious. There were several layers and some itchy stockings, but she would suffer it to avoid a corset. Instead, the final layer of dress was fitted and the sides and sleeves were tugged tightly with string and tied. Simple. Kept the layers in place. And her shoes were leather, fur-lined slippers. They tied her hair back in a loose braid and lovely ribbons. The earlier bath had been mixed with milk and herbs that made her skin feel soft and sweet smelling; loosening her muscles and seemed to make breathing easier. Whatever herbs they were, they had to have been medicinal. Anne could get behind that. She had a collection of 'tea-bath' sachets back home.

She was escorted back to the massive stone room she was first taken to, feeling slightly better. And now that she could see and process much more clearly, she saw that it was a throne room, separated by only a row of tall pillars that hold a second story walkway. It opened into another massive room which the ladies were leading her to. Filled with only a round table...no, _the_ round table! Anne almost tripped. Her family members were all sitting, talking animatedly until she was escorted in. They all stood, giving respectful bows that made her squirm a little before giving an awkward curtsey. But it was Alistair that approached, tugging her towards a seat between himself and her uncle, Rhys, who smiled kindly, and pushed her chair in for her. Her father, however, stiffly sat and tried to appear calm.

"Are you feeling better, child?" Rhys' voice was soft.

"A little, thank you."

"We were just discussing possible plans to send you home. We must do so for your sake. However, therein lies an issue, you see."

"Oh?"

"We've only just been at war; been recovering as we have been to cleanse the lands. Our magic is not where it should be."

"...I see. I apologize for the trouble."

"Oh no, no need. Tis' not your fault, my dear. We shall aid you in this. And of course, you are welcome to stay here, take time to rest and gather your strength."

"I...I don't feel much of my old strength, to be sure. In that other time, it felt like it was only a portion, getting smaller every day."

"It is unfortunately not a good sign, I'm afraid. You are not meant to be here, after all. Which is why we must do this and with haste. The longer you are here, the weaker you will become."

"Uncle Rhys...am I...Am I dying?" her question seemed to pull the air from the room and the space became despairingly still. Reilly seemed to give a small hiss and glance towards a wall to avoid looking at her. "I suppose the silence answers that." It made sense now. The heavy, solemnity before they tried to send her back the first time. She was dying. And if her experience with time travel through portals had shown her anything, it was deadly. They were worried that she would die. She was worried too.

"So then," she cleared her throat, still trying to wrap her mind around her own mortality, "How may help you in this?"

"You have no magic, child. I saw as much." Rhys continued.

"You mean I have no magic like all of you. This does not mean that I am useless. Surely, I can at least try."

"We would not ask you to strain yourself." Arthur finally spoke. But before Anne could respond an older man, briskly enter the room and bowed low.

"My king, my lords..." he paused when he caught sight of Anne, looking surprised, "erm, my lady...One of our scouts believes he has spied a band of soldiers, trying to maneuver through the borders."


	4. Chapter 3

Ugh! Work sucks right now and I'd been staring at my word document trying to will myself to write and it just wasn't coming. Until one day...it did. And I started writing...in a very different direction I had originally intended. Weird. I'm not complaining; I think it'd be a more natural turn of events than some of the ideas I was tossing about. And the inspiration came from reading the lovely reviews I get for my stories! Thank you everyone for your reviews! I am always worried whenever I post my work that it isn't going to be liked. And while I would hardly call my fanfiction masterpieces, it is nonetheless, a point of joy for me to see those who enjoy the stories.

I'd someday love to write my own novel. Someday. Maybe. And to do that I definitely need to improve. So, of course, constructive criticism is appreciated. (Aside from grammar anyhow. I do my best here, but I dont have a peer reviewer available, so...yea. There is that.)

Thank you! And now for what you are really here for!

Ch. 3-

Alistair was quick to stand at the news, as was Arthur, to follow the man from the round table. For his part, the man did well to remain professional aside from the curious glances he sent her way. Anne wasn't really sure why.

"Um, should we...?"

"Nah, they'll handle all that." Reilly shrugged. "Now, what magic do you do?"

"I wouldn't really call it magic. Rather, we call it science..." Anne trailed off.

"Such as your...forgive me if I mispronounce, _auto-mobile-machines." _ Rhys spoke next.

"Yes and No. More like certain minerals and elements and such can be used to...as fuel anyway...well, make other things or change things into something else? I...I'm not sure if that made sense."

"No, no, I understand completely," he nodded, "You're an alchemist. That's wonderful!"

"Uh, not...not quite..." she began but Reilly spoke over her.

"Oh! Very unique!" he practically gushed, "You must be very educated!"

"Well, yes, but...I wouldn't consider myself an expert in _sciences_ by any means." Anne tried to backtrack. It sounded like they weren't talking about the same thing.

"Ah, well, you're still a young lass. You've plenty of time to master your craft." Reilly gave her shoulder a hard pat which Anne braced for. "Learning one's craft takes a lifetime...and then some. "he nodded sagely. "For now, we will show you around."

Arthur paced across the tower overlooking the forest. A scouting party had been dispatched to capture any intruders, but he lacked the patience to wait. He knew it. Alistair was leading them. Arthur wanted to, but he was King now. With the war over, his chances of rushing into battle was significantly lessened. He understood why, but there was an itch under his skin. An itch for battle; for blood. He'd told himself the endless bloody days would lead to the peace they all desired.

But blood had always been ever constant. To him, at the very least. It seemed their isles had always been at war. If not with each other, then with invaders. Their poor mother. Arthur had believed his very birth was brought because of war. And though his mother loved him and he her; his birth signaled new blood; new culture. It signaled change; his brothers changing with it. And it signaled her death.

Arthur clutched a pendant he'd never taken off. A talisman his mother had crafted especially for him. To protect him. Was his mother just as surprised that she'd sired new nations? Was he _dead_ in the future then; since his alleged child was grown? Was that the doom of siring a nation? In the dawn of a new kingdom, the old king dies.

Morgana had told him his fortune once. A great usurper would come, to cast him down. He was the once and future king. Did that mean he would live on only as a legend; a memory? Did cast down translate to death? Would she become the new kingdom? It is essentially what had happened to their mother. She had not been upset by it. Assured them that this was how life went; just as it happened with humans and their family lines. They were nations, but not fully immortal. They could die. And die some had with the shifting of the ages.

Good heavens...were they all dead in the future? Is that what started her whole ordeal? She was left unprotected...

Arthur sighed heavily. Thinking about this, with no available information, as the future was forbidden, would not give him any answers. There would be no peace until time righted itself. They could only hope it did so without taking catastrophic measures. It didn't matter whether she was his child or not. She was still blood; she is a Kirkland. It was as his brother said; they protect family. It was one thing to fight each other for their piece of the world. If something else, something outside them attacked, they fought it together. It is what family does.

And with that resolution, Arthur descended to speak with the guards to call for him when Alistair returned. For now, Arthur would take some measure into his own hands. Surely, the scrolls and tomes could offer some manner of spell to aid them; aid her. And if not...well...both courts owed him favors.

In the Present:

Rhys hated dealing with government officials as it was, but this was uncalled for. American officials, through Canadian officials, through Matthieu and finally to his own officials seemed determined to badger him with questions. First, they said, they can't get a hold of the American personification, and now Arthur was down, and they received a report that Reilly had been hospitalized. Rhys didn't think his mobile phone has ever rung so much. And now...and _now_, Rhys cringed at the snarky drawl on the line.

The Welshman was sure he would attack whomever gave his number to Texas.

Currently the cowboy nation was on an angry tirade about his America currently being held hostage. _His_ America; Rhys was sure Arthur would have a thing or two to say about that. Either way, damage control was needed and it was, apparently, his job to do so. He held back a sigh at the strange idioms the other nation was tossing about and cringing at his sometimes out-of-context use of words. American's turn-of-phrase was strange sometimes. Not that he couldn't say the same about the slang within his own people, but that was neither here nor there. He was developing a wicked migraine and reserved the personal right of having a complete lack of patience with another nation's _quirks_. Not the most diplomatic behavior to be sure, however, Rhys found he couldn't bring himself to care about the boy's feelings. But the moment Alistair stumbled into the room he was in, looking harried and grim, Rhys decided the conversation was over.

"If you think dealing with Washington is bad, let me tell you the wrath of Texas will make you _wish—" _And Rhys hung up the phone. He sent a quick text to Mattie to call Texas and keep him off their backs and promise to make it up to him before following his younger sibling out the door.

"Alis, what is it?" he asked after the redhead's retreating back.

"Albion took off."

"He's awake?!"

"Yea...no? I don't know. He wasn't really responsive. I told him to stay put and...I swear, I turned my back for a second and he was already out of the room." Alistair ran his hands roughly through his hair, muttering about how he-didn't-sign-up-for-this-shit.

Sure enough, Arthur was gone and they didn't know which direction he went, but Rhys had an inkling. There would be only one place Arthur would go; back to the stone circle. After rousing a cranky Eire, they piled into the car and hoped to find their youngest sibling at the ancient stones or on the way.

In the past:

Reilly had glanced up from his book that seemed determined to put him to sleep, to see Arthur stride in. Arthur noted him, surprised to see his Irish brother perched in a chair, and then heard their guest laugh from around a tall bookshelf further away. Reilly turned to smirk in the general direction and simply mumbled, _he's just happy he can tell his jokes again because she's never heard them before._ Arthur couldn't help but agree. Humor was not his eldest brother's strongest suit. Approaching, he found Anne perched on the sill of one of the many stone windows, oversized tome in her lap, and his brother atop a ladder with stack of others in one arm, as he peered down to speak to her.

Anne noticed him first; smiled and a gave a small wave which he awkwardly returned, unsure if such a greeting was even appropriate. Rhys turned to face him.

"Ah, brother, glad you have come. Come and give me a hand." he nodded to the books and Arthur wanted to quip that, younger sibling or not, he was still a king. One doesn't order a king about. But it was not appropriate to argue before a lady. Damn etiquette rules. Give him but a chance to punch etiquette in the face... So, he helped grab the stack of books with a glare that his elder brother, of course, blithely ignored. "We're searching the texts for guidance on the nature of time," Rhys stacked all the heavy books in his arms and brushed past him. _Leave me to do all the lifting, you bastard._ Were he a lesser man, he'd simply drop the books for his brother to gather on his own, but no.

And Anne had appeared to gather from his stack and aid in carrying them after the Welshman. He nodded his thanks for the gesture and they paced with each other.

"I didn't think travel back in time would've ever been possible before experiencing it myself. I've always understood it to be impossible because of the effects that could happen." Anne thought back to one her times at university; remembering one of her classes that had spent a week arguing the possibility of time travel. It had been deemed outside the laws known to man; impossible until proven otherwise.

"It is most certainly possible...obviously." Rhys added as an afterthought. "The dangers and the risks are why, even to those who are aware of its possibility, calling it impossible would thus keep curious fools from trying. There would be those who know of its possibility in your time. I would imagine; however, they'd guard the secret with such a lie. Wise choice. Could you imagine what would happen to the cosmos if anyone could travel back; change things?"

"It would be biblical damage to be certain."

"Indeed. More than just the end of our world."

"And my presence alone wouldn't do such a thing?"

"So long as whatever future we learn we do not act upon. It is important that time remains as it should be." Anne swallowed that bitter pill with a grimace. It would be nice to change some things of the past if she could. Heaven knows she would understand the desire to travel back in time to fix past mistakes. And that there would be those who would risk the cosmos to do so. It was such a temptation. Still. She was a hero. Heroes accept and learn from their mistakes. They don't risk the universe because they wish to change their past screw-ups. Life wasn't like the video games.

And yet, she knew she would need to make that into a mantra of sorts. Because it would be so easy. So easy to just lay everything bare in the hopes of mending things. If her father knew what was to come, then maybe...maybe, things wouldn't be as bad as they were in her time. Because unlike her, he would know what to do. He always knew what to do. It was as comforting as it was infuriating.

Growing up he worked hard to keep her safe and to teach her things. And she learned, slowly no doubt, but she learned. And yet, she still wanted to experience life on her own. Early on. As she had before he had ever found her in the wilds. He hadn't budged and so she pulled harder. It was the basis for many of their arguments. He wanted her underwing to continue teaching as much to keep her safe. And she felt she should learn by experience, as she had done before, and that included suffering from her own mistakes. Because they'd have been her choices and she'd have no one to blame but herself. It was a difficult lesson she'd learned long before her time with him. And she'd accepted it. But Father wanted to keep her behind walls...doors, windows, observing from a distance where the bad things couldn't cross.

But in doing so, other kinds of bad things seeped in; stifling rage, resentment, and bitterness. Feeling what her colonists were feeling and being, as their own nation, unable to aid or even mitigate, was beyond frustrating. Anne had wondered if that was just her or was it a part of the nature of being a personified nation?

And even still, the temptation was there. To tell him. For him to change things, even if it meant sacrificing the future she'd known. For surely, there was a better one out there. Alas, the rule of time was as rigid as ever. If she changed things, everything would be torn apart. Damn time rules. Anne wanted a chance to punch time in the face.

Her uncle had chosen a wide table for them to set the books upon, immediately snatching a tome from her father's arms, nearly sending a few to the floor if not for her father's reflexes. Arthur scowled hard while Anne hid her smile by pretending to brush the imaginary dust of her dress.

"While you've certainly now experienced travel by way of portal, what other experience do you have?"

"That is all, I'm afraid. Like time travel, I didn't think it quite possible. Or I rather thought time travel impossible, but travelling through portals was possible, just not yet. For my _science_, I had working theories."

"Such as?" Rhys was very curious as to how her magic, or _science_, worked. From what he had gleaned, there were incredible things to behold in her future. One he sensed she was very much a herald of. But it was unfamiliar magic, to be certain. Whatever she called it. At the very least, it was an alchemy he had not been familiar with. While alchemy was not his forte, too risky in his opinion, there were too many things that could go wrong and explode, he could see she had talent for it. For his visions had shown her in the skies with birds and through the clouds. For her, this metal bird vessel, was much a source of joy as it was a weapon. Fascinating things, indeed.

Rhys gave an approving nod to Arthur who glanced curiously his way as Anne explained one of her theories. She was not wrong entirely; portals without magic didn't seem possible in Rhys' opinion, but...well...what did _he_ know of the future? Glimpses could only explain so much. Still, for what little she claimed to know of magic, she had a very good understanding of the natural world around her. It had caused him to wonder, that while her magic differed from theirs, why they had not instructed her in their ways regardless; even if only that the knowledge was available for her use as theory rather than practicality. Strange that a member of their family be unfamiliar with their family rites. Rhys felt the itch to learn more.

Arthur's curiosity came elsewhere. What could be powerful enough to send her back in time? When Reilly had questioned her before, she had mentioned an accident by way of potions. Which did not entirely explain anything. Potions could create a power space, as ley lines were sometimes wont to do, but they did not open the door. Something else had to have been in place; an incantation, a spellcaster's rite, a...a curse.

Arthur glanced back her way.

Had there been a curse in play? That would've been...awfully convoluted. And it would've had to have happened in a very specific place, with the curse already laid, and...the potions activated without her notice or at least fast enough before she counter...no, she was not a spellcaster. Even so, she had the pendant. How could she be cursed? Did she always have the pendant? Or was it...she'd been surprised by its power. So, from her previous escapade through time? So many questions...

Familiar magic, it was. Layered upon layered. But enough to catch his intuition of terrible things. His mother had impressed upon him, the youngest son who may not have the heightened sight of Alba, the clairvoyance of Cymru or steadfast access of Eire, to listen to his intuition that outmatched his brothers. Arthur sense was the strongest of them all. And his brothers learned to listen to his feelings, particularly bad feelings of approaching danger.

And this...the feeling upon her descent in time, to their time...It had felt like him and something else. He had no doubt, and neither did Alba, the pendant she wore was the familiarity he felt. It was blood magic; their blood. It would protect any one of their kin. Arthur's hand found the pendant around his neck again; a nervous gesture while Anne and Rhys continued to discuss the _science_ of portals. He glanced down, thumb running over their family crest; the round, flattened piece identical to the one she wore.

Did she realize whose blood had powered the talisman?

Could his mother's magic, her spirit, sense who she was?

And if the pendant was his familial magic...whose curse was entwinned with it? Who would _dare_? Arthur felt his rage flare.

"-thur?" Arthur snapped his attention to his eldest brother.

"Yes?"

"Welcome back," Rhys' tone may have been light, but his focus was hard upon his youngest brother. Arthur glared back, upping the shields on his mind. Rhys may be his brother, but that did not grant him limitless access to his mind. "Alistair has returned. Your presence is needed." Arthur nodded and excused himself.

Whomever dared to sully his magic with a curse would _pay_...Dare to curse _his child_...Arthur stopped short...His child. His _child_. _His_ child. He resumed walking; resolve growing with each step.

_Yes,_ he thought, _his child._

Happy 4th everyone!


	5. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Sorry this is taking so long. As I said in the beginning, I had practically no direction for this, so I am making it up as I go and it sometimes goes in a direction that even I didn't expect. And of course, if I cant write then I wont force it.

Thank you for your patience and for sticking with this story!

Alistair was already tired of...of whatever this impending doom was. It was the not knowing. He wanted to know what the problem was so that he could fight it and move on. But none of his idiot brothers were any closer to finding the answers and the search party only turned up a raving lunatic; one that could not answer any question they'd asked. And while the madman was no doubt a victim of magic, without anyway to trace the source, there was little they could do. He could not erase the scowl upon his face as he stalked down the corridors, household staff dodging him as he made his way to the dining hall. For goodness sake, he wasn't the lunatic from the dungeons. He had a temper, but he was not a violent man. Alistair scowled harder and pushed his way through heavy doors.

"What a face, brother!" the Irishman's words stopped him short and only caused his irritation to flare. "What is it? Someone steal from your purse?"

"Shut it, troll." He grumbled.

"Even so," Rhys cut in, "Your face clearly shows something troubles you."

"Tha' so?"

"Aye. You have me concerned little brother." Rhys was most definitely in a chipper mood, as he reached to pat his slightly taller, younger brother atop his head. Alistair mumbled, head ducked, as his face pinked. He refused to let it show that it was a pleasing thing to receive affection from Rhys. He'd always admired his elder brother, enjoyed their mostly easy relationship. Rhys could counsel him anything, had protected and comforted him when they were small, and rarely infuriated him in the way his other siblings had. Reilly was obnoxious and Arthur simply a pain in the arse. An entitled, spoilt, snarky, arrogant little—!

"Come and eat, Alis." The Welshman tugged along with a comforting pat on his shoulder, smiling when he complied. He sighed and schooled his face when he gave a respectful bow to his niece who smiled widely at him, looking all the happier at seeing him. He would deny how that also helped to calm his irritation. He refused to even hint at a bow to Arthur whose eyebrow twitched as he took a place next between Anne and Rhys, who cleared his place so he could.

"How was your afternoon?" Anne asked, passing him a tray will bread. "The man you recovered..."

"Uncooperative." was all he said before taking a long drink of ale and Anne gave condolences while pouring more for his cup.

"We found some interesting tomes on time magic." Reilly supplied with a mouthful.

"And what did you find?" this time Arthur spoke.

"Mainly regarding the ether. Time portals are violent ones. They cannae be controlled; connection must come from both sides as well." _Well, that complicates things_, Arthur thought. They'd have to act with the hope that their futures selves were able to be ready to open the portal on their end to receive their family member back. Terribly complicated. And if this be the result of a curse, then it makes it all the more dangerous.

"Never fear, my brothers. We shall succeed." Rhys declared, trying to dispel the tension.

"Ach, we cannae be sure, Crymu. We've never cast that before." Alistair sighed.

"I'm sure it will all work out," Anne added, poking at the wine-soaked pears, "I trust all of you." She had no idea the stillness she had caused. When they had all stopped moving to take in what she just said. A second later, glancing at one another, they returned to the meal.

They were family yes, but it was a hard thing to swallow when mere few years before Morganna they'd all warred with each other constantly. They'd protect each other from outsiders and were all quite sure none of them would ever deal the other a deathly blow, but...trust...absolute trust was still an issue between them. Such a curious feeling. Their niece trusted them more than they trusted each other. And she trusted without question. Anne looked up, finally noticing the long silence, and smiled at them in question.

"Will you take a tour of the gardens with me?" Arthur finally spoke, "After you've finished your meal of course."

"Sure. I like gardens." Not a lie, but Anne was a little uneasy of the silence that had descended and of being alone with her father. And then, put out in the open like that...how could she refuse? Uncle Rhys and Uncle Reilly were easy to be around. Uncle Al, if you didn't do things to irritate him, was also pretty easy to be around in that he generally was alright with adventuring and letting Anne fill the silence. And Anne knew which topics tended to hold his interest and which ones he hated. Her father had always been kind of like walking on eggshells. Anne remembered having to be careful of the topics she crossed. First from things considered unladylike and then to their shared history which always seemed to put him in a sour mood.

The gardens were nothing what she imagined. Anne had become accustomed to her father's traditional gardens, or rather _modern_, considering the time she is currently in. But they were lovely still. Whimsical and almost wild looking; the flowers were obviously favorites. The air is as it always was, though; wet and earthy with a bit of chill and she was glad her father sent for a shawl during dinner for her.

And her father seemed keen to fill the silence with his knowledge of the plants strewn about. Beautiful and medicinal, he said. Everything had purpose. He'd never seemed so interested in the botanical arts before; to her memory anyhow. At the very least, no more interested than how lands were utilized to feed its citizens. And even then, Anne knew her father was most certainly not a farmer like she'd been for decades upon decades. It had been a source of fascination, and even at times amusement, the differences in their callouses. His from swords and hers from ploughs. He'd graciously hear his small daughter's reports of the local farms and markets, but had no more working knowledge of their daily processes than the average person really. Or had he been simply hiding the knowledge for her sake, since she'd so much pride in her agriculture. Or was he simply not interested and listened out of indulgence to her. Still, she answered his questions, showing her deep knowledge of the various flowers and herbs about them. It seemed to please him anyway.

"I understand that there is not much you can tell me," he spoke after some quiet moments, "But I would like to inquire nonetheless. It is my wish to understand better, or as much as we are able to without destroying the stream of time."

"I shall do my best to answer." she had to finally concede after thinking on the rather formal way of asking to get to know her.

"Where to start then...your age, perhaps?"

"We think about four centuries." _So, _Arthur thought, _she is only slightly older than I am now._

"There is no record?"

"Well...it is rather difficult to explain, I think. For all the..._advancements _of the time, records were not as reliable as one would hope. I suppose perhaps, the coming of my existence was not witnessed and so there was no one to report it."

"But you'd have just been born," his brow furrowed, "Surely there had to be someone there to give care."

"I wouldn't know. Or really remember. I only remember that at some point, people were there, and they did what they could for me. And then...it was me on my own for a while." _Good lord, was he truly dead then? In the future. Surely, he'd have witnessed his child's birth into the world. Something must have happened. For his magic to influence her coming; he'd have to still be alive. So why wasn't he there? What kept him from her? Or had he been dying at the same time? Where were his brothers? Were they too—? _ He had so many questions he could not have answered. Or was it that he was afraid of the answer?

"That...must have been so difficult."

"It is what it is." she shrugged. "It wasn't always terrible though. Even in the woods, I had company with me. Animals and such, the occasional wanderer."

"I had rabbits with me whenever I traversed my forests."

"Oh yes, there were rabbits sometimes. Climbing the trees to see the eagles were one of my favorite things too, but, it was mostly the wolves I stuck with."

"Wolves?" his voice cracked, but Anne only nodded.

"Very misunderstood creatures. They're family-oriented and I suppose they saw me as some manner of hairless puppy, because they let me stay with them. And I won't complain about it; it saved me in winters when I could cuddle to them to stay warm. They protected me from other predators."

"And no one else?"

"Not at first. I think the wanderers may have offered to take me with them, but at the time I spoke no English. I was just this scrappy toddler milling about the woods. But eventually, I was brought to civilization."

"By whom?"

"By you. When you found me." Arthur's throat closed at the revelation. He'd been alive and apparently took much time to find her. On these lands, that shouldn't have...unless...She did not inherit his lands. His thoughts stopped short.

"Are you far away?" And Anne knew what he meant.

"Yes. Travel takes so long. Especially then." So...he would travel far and sire a nation. By all accounts then, Rhys' plan to somehow contact their future selves was indeed a viable option. Had Rhys known this already; that they were alive? _The secretive bastard._

"Still. You were found."

"Yes. You took care of me then, for quite a while." Anne noticed that seemed to dispel the storm brewing across his face. It was surreal to see how young her father's face was, and yet, she could still see his feelings so easily upon it. And there were so many different emotions that crossed it then.

"Are you on your own now then?"

"...I'm independent." she hesitated; carefully watching for a reaction.

"Young and independent; well done." he nodded, to Anne's shock, in approval and, dare she say it, _pride_. Anne was glad that he didn't ask how. _How different!_ She had been sure they'd have lapsed into another argument. His pirate-self didn't take the news so kindly. And it is a sore subject in their present. Arthur picked up on it right away though. "You seemed surprised at my reaction."

"I-well...that is..." she fumbled.

"Independence is a hardship, to be sure. When mother, that is, _your grandmother_, passed from this world, I had been afraid of being on my own. I didn't feel ready to fend for myself. I had hoped, would always hope, that she had been with us much longer. She held so much wisdom and tried her best to impart it to her sons. So... I suppose it would sadden me to not be needed by you so soon in your life, but I would be remiss if I said that it didn't make me proud of your strength. If you are as far as you say, then you must have no choice but to be on your own much of the time. To be a nation is to tend one's land the most; foremost." He gestured to the far lands beyond the garden walls. "I hope you do not begrudge me for having to leave you." And Anne didn't; not anymore. When she had been tiny, she would cry for days when he left; would cling for days upon his return.

"Is my reaction so surprising?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"We...weren't able to part on the best terms?"

"I see."

"I'm...I'm sorry." Arthur shook his head and looked away. And now Anne felt horrible. Here she went again, making things worse. She felt her eyes sting.

"No need to be." he patted her hand in the crook of his arm, "Has the love been lost between us?" And Anne had actually thought about it. Sure, they argued constantly, but...No.

"I don't believe so."

"Then that is all that matters." and they walked in silence a few moments.

"May I ask what my grandmother was like?" she spoke, "If it isn't too painful..." She had always wanted to ask, but it always seemed to create such melancholy in her father and her uncles, that she shied away from ever asking.

"Grief is always painful, but it can be softened with joyful memory," he seemed to recite. "She was both kind and fierce. A wise woman. And she loved us. Very much."

"I wish I'd have had the chance to know her."

"She would've loved you."

"You think so?" Considering her history, she was sure others would more likely been ashamed of her.

"Of course. You are very much like her; I can tell." that startled a laugh out of Anne.

"Oh, I'm hardly wise."

"Nor am I, I would think." he actually chuckled, "Wisdom comes with age and experiences. And we are, as of now, both quite young."

"It's rather strange, really."

"Oh?"

"You're much older in my time; very wise indeed." she giggled, "So, this," she gestured, "Is surreal to me. Not that you have an old man's face! You just...possess the wisdom now."

"Rather glad I don't have an old man's face. Can you imagine?"

"With wrinkles and spots?!"

"Greying frayed hair?"

"And slouched over, hobbling along!"

"Frail and paper-thin skin. Truly the end of days for me, no doubt." The both seemed to burst into laughter. Anne pictured a crotchety old man of her father and laughed until it was no longer funny. Because old meant_ passing_. Passing meant _gone_. And suddenly, it wasn't funny at all. And she gasped, head bowed, hand clutching the front of her dress as cried. Arthur, for his part, was startled to see her suddenly cry. He turned to stand before her, clutching her shoulders, trying to steady her.

"It's alright." _Oh dear, what should I do?_

_"_I'm..._hiccup_...I'm sorry." She accepted the embrace. The magic of the matching pendants they wore seemed to spark into something bright and warm. He held on as she softly cried into his shoulder while he awkwardly tried to soothe her. But as the seconds pasts, Anne thought his voice changed. It was deeper, the accent off from a moment ago, the hold more familiar.

"There, there now. Oh, come, my little darling. All will be well." she felt the same brush of feathers, causing her to look up. The face was still as young as ever, but somehow wholly more familiar; the face she had known all her life.

"Dad?" he smiled that same warm smile.

"Needn't fear, little bean. I am still here." Hiccupping, Anne pulled into the embrace again. Clutching tightly as her father lightly pet her hair. But sadly, a few moments later...

"What's this?" she heard Alistair's angry growl. The moment was gone as if never there. "You made her cry?!"

"I did no such—It was...It was a poorly made jest!"

"Oh, it was, was it?"

"Uncle Alistair, please. I'm alright._ I_ started the terrible joke. It's not his fault. I'm just...tired. All of this...it has been a trial on me. Really. I was bound to break down eventually." Alistair gave a small grunt, but still glared at Arthur who glared back, still keeping Anne steady as she used her sleeves to dry her eyes. Anne sniffed and cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry about that."

"Quite alright," her father quickly answered, "Do you feel better?"

"A little, yes. Thank you."

"Let us head back, shall we? Some water and a rest to calm one's nerves."

"Yes. I'd love that." her hand found the pendant and fiddled with it all the way back. _Was that vision real or was she losing her mind? Was it magic? It was strange; as if her father was somehow...there..._

Arthur sat heavily in his chair at the round table after taking Anne to her room. His elder brother still glared at him suspiciously, but Arthur paid him no mind. He replayed what had transpired in his mind trying to understand what had happened. It was strange, truly, but it did not feel dangerous. _What was that?_ His magic had flared for a moment. And _his_ voice, but not, had spoken to his daughter. It was his magic that reacted and nothing else. So curious. Arthur glanced up when Rhys had wandered into the vast room.

"I sensed I missed something."

"Oh, not much; just our idiot brother making his child cry." Alistair sneered and Arthur scoffed. _Lord, his brother was such as ass_.

"Oh dear. What did you do?" _Oh, for the love of—!_

"I did not!" he huffed, exasperated, "We were, in truth, enjoying an amusing conversation before she suddenly began to cry."

"And what was the conversation, if I may?"

"We-we spoke of mother, her grandmother, I mean. About mother's wisdom and how it comes with age and experience. I told her that her grandmother would have loved her and how she reminded me of her." Arthur reported, "She said being around me...like this...was strange, as I was much older in her time. It became a joke of myself appearing old and frail." Arthur ignored his Scottish brother's amused snort, "And then..."

"And then?"

"Well, I comment on my being old and frail; at the end of my days. We both had laughed until she began to cry. And that was when..." his brows furrowed, ignored Alistair's comment of _the 'Of course she would cry after a terribly morbid joke as that! What were you thinking?'_

"What happened, Arthur?"

"My magic reacted. It was odd. It was only my magic, but it had come unbidden and strong, as if to take its own shape. And spoke to her." His brothers stared hard, enraptured.

"What did it say? A divination? A prophecy?"

"Not in the least. Rather, it offered her comfort. I had taken the form when I faced that witch Morganna at the height of my power, but I did not summon it myself."

"Fascinating." was all Rhys had said, while Alistair scoffed at his supposed most powerful form. _Angel, indeed. His youngest sibling has such an ego!_ "I have a theory, perhaps, but first I need to meditate on it. Alis, would you be so kind as to use your cards so we may gleam some knowledge? Just a short reading, if you please." Alistair pulled out his tarot cards and shuffled them.

"Yeh know what to do. Focus on your question." He waited until Rhys nodded and placed the cards into their order on the table. He flipped them carefully, mouth pressed into a hardened, grim line at what they had shown them. This was bad. And he read them carefully over and over. Hand hovering over 'The Tower'.

_There was danger coming. Soon. And it it's wake: great transformation. Death. _

_And great sorrow. The Tower would fall._

He hadn't seen a reading this bad since...since they predicted mother's death.

Thank you for your support and reviews!


	6. Chapter 5

Thought I'd get this in before my flight back from Seattle to Cali. Its official-I am now a homeowner. (Its exciting and scary at the same time!)

Enjoy this next chapter guys! (I didn't have time to proofread, sorry about errors!)

Ch. 5

In the present:

If Rhys wasn't so tired, he might've actually laughed at what transpired before him. They'd found Arthur trudging along the dirt path to the stones and called to him, but their youngest ignored them. In all fairness, they really did try to get his attention, but...well. His younger, Scottish brother had decided rather quickly that he'd had enough, and to Rhys' fright leapt from their car. The car wasn't going fast, but it startled him nonetheless. And Alistair, without warning, save a long and very loud string of every insult he could muster towards the Englishman, had bodily flung himself against Arthur, knocking the both of them into the dirt. They'd landed in a tangle of limbs with only a massive upheaval of dust to mark their descent.

Arthur, it seemed, had come to his senses, after his ungraceful face-plant into earth. He squirmed under the massive weight of his brother, practically screeching in upset. What stopped Rhys short, having parked and abandoned Reilly to the car, was Arthur's manner of speech. Arthur had turned and grunted against his larger sibling, hands shoving at shoulders or tugging at hair. Alistair it seemed hadn't quite picked up on it yet, shouting his own arsenal of curse words. Still, it had been quite a while since Rhys had heard such an accent and pattern of speech.

"Mryddin! Tell this mongrel to let me up at once!" Arthur shouted, causing the Welshman to start in surprise. And this time, Rhys did laugh. He laughed hard. "How dare you, brother. 'Tis no way to treat a monarch!"

"What're yeh goin' on about, yeh ravin' lunatic!" Alistair had managed to worm an arm around Arthur's neck and pulled him into a headlock, grunting as sharp elbows attacked his gut.

"Albion, you..." Rhys snickered, "You are out of your time, little brother." It took Rhys some effort to school his voice into something this Arthur would recognize. The moment wouldn't last long, he knew. Arthur magic was fluctuating severely. No doubt this was only a...blended image of sorts. His different personas, different presents, at their given times, were...well, all _present_ at once. Or rather, this particular past was experiencing his present as well as their current present.

"Wot?" That's seemed to stop both his brothers still situated on the ground.

"Tell me quickly, how is your daughter?"

"Tired, weak...but she is well...that is," Arthur's brows furrowed, "She is...quite upset at the moment, and I...but 'tis not quite myself...Mryddin, what is happ—"Arthur blinked, and Rhys sensed his magic still. "What the devil—? What's going—Alistair! Release me this instant!"

"Jesus. I had hoped to never experience _that_ time again." Reilly had said from his perch on the car. "Monarch, my arse. You were right awful. I mean, you still are, but...ugh! That time was the _worst_. And you, Rhys, just continued to indulge him." He watched as his two brothers stood and dusted themselves off. Arthur chose to ignore the Irishman for the time. He'd get him back, and Alistair as well, later for the indignity they'd caused him. After, anyway. After he figured out what had happened.

"Rhys, what has happened? What is going on?"

"Back in the car first, Arthur. We shall discuss it on the way back to the Inn. Think we could all do with some food...and fresh clothes." Though he would not give any explanation until they'd reached the Inn, chuckling at Arthur's embarrassment at the staff seeing his ruffled, dirt covered appearance. He gifted over his handkerchief, both as a gesture of good will and as a tease to which his youngest sibling all but snatched to wipe at his dirty, but still flushed face. _At least_, Rhys thought, _this explained the migraine_. Memories of such a faraway past would be hard to discern, unlike the memories from their exploration years. And Rhys' memory recall abilities were unmatched by anyone he knew. And goodness, his little, spunky niece had traveled _very_ far this time.

Even so, everything made sense now. All of it. Including why this was all happening. It was not good news, to be sure. But they weren't the same people they were in any of their pasts. They were older, wiser and more united than they'd ever been since that time. What their mother had always wanted for them. _Had Mother known about this future?_ They were calmer, more mature, _most of the time_, and were all the stronger than any would realize. Having children to care for tended to have such an effect.

It was their advantage now. And one _she_ arrogantly failed to account for.

Arthur felt dizzy, but he tried to ignore the nauseous feeling that settled into his stomach. He had to, for there were more pressing matters to attend. For one, his voicemail was full with mostly messages from the Frog, he was getting impatient of Arthur's lack of response, and Arthur shot a quick text telling him to sod off. A few messages of concern were from Matthieu, and Arthur had to acknowledge he really owed the lad for keeping the vultures at bay as best he could. And then there were many voicemails from an irate Texas. Arthur sighed, begrudgingly listening to them, if only for the sake of professionalism and his daughter's fondness for the rambunctious boy. At least neither government saw fit to allow him to travel and search for her.

He couldn't understand how she could stand to be in the Texan's presence for very long; honestly, it was exhausting for Arthur. Still, even Arthur had to concede that he kept his little girl safe during their bizarre adventures. His dislike of the boy was his own burden, really. It was a lack of patience...and probably the boy's connection to the Spaniard. At least the boy didn't badger him nearly as much as the Frog. In fact, their interactions were quite minimal, for which Arthur was grateful as he just didn't have the same energy anymore. And in those times, if the boy didn't grate on his nerves, he was as easy-going as his Australian kin; just as energetic, but infinitely crass and opinionated. Probably not the boy's fault considering he'd spent his formative and influencing years around Antonio. _Poor thing_.

Arthur sat heavily in a chair, finally deciding to at least send Texas a long text, explaining his regrets at the lack of communication, but not actually explaining the situation. Simply that, America was...ill and in need of very special, very specific care, and could not receive visitors, _doctor's orders_, until further notice. The recent incidents with the UK brothers was...purely coincidental. Yes, trouble with tourist attractions and... miscreants. And that as soon as Anne was able, Arthur would personally ensure that she contact Texas first. He'd gave his word. And that would have to be enough, for now. The boy would need to trust him; trust that he'd take the very best care of Anne, as he'd always had. _Tried_.

And the other matter, was his eldest sibling's conclusions to this whole mess. It was absurd. It seemed almost impossible, and yet...his magic was acting on its own. Most unusual. And the visions it had granted him; of a time, long since gone. Distant and shrouded in mystery and legends; just as they'd planned all those centuries ago. He never imagined that past would ever resurface. After all, why now?

But he had said that _she'd_ found a way. Something they'd feared more in the distant past and all but forgotten now. That'd she'd use Time itself to exact revenge was foreboding and cunning. But what exactly she had planned and how it involved his child...no one could answer, despite Rhys' confidence in their magic. Rhys insisted that they were much better prepared _now _than they ever were then. He supposed that was true. They had not fought each other...sort of...in a long, long time. And their magic had indeed matured.

It made his intuition burn in anticipation. Something terrible was coming, Well, it heralded _her_ return, to be sure, but..._damn it all; how? How as she planning to attack them?_

_"_Are you feeling better?" Rhys sat next to him on the sofa.

"Not really."

"She won't harm little Anne; we won't allow it. Past or present, Albion. She is with _us_, where she is _safest_. Morganna can't harm her."

"As if that were an absolute truth. All it would take is one distraction, one simple turn in a mindless wander, and then Anne would no longer be safe with us, would she?"

"I don't think we'd let Anne out of our protection, especially during that time."

"And what could she possibly want with Anne? I hate to say it but there are far easier ways to kill a nation, so I don't think that's it."

"Arthur, what is your intuition telling you?"

"It has to do with Anne. It does. And for some reason it requires Anne to be there...in the past."

"Then why did Anne fall twice? And that'd do is—"

"Weaken her." Arthur sat up straighter, "Anne is..._insanely_ powerful. To the point of being ridiculous. The fact she's survived this length of time in the past is truly amazing and unusual."

"Or it could be a fluke of magic."

"That witch wouldn't make such a mistake."

"Remember, Albion, we sealed her magic away. Remember that? If she were acting through another, then maybe, it did not happen the way she wanted."

"No. This is exactly what she wants. She wants Anne weak, but for what?"

"She'd have to be acting through another. It would explain why the fluctuations would be out of her control. She cannot control another's magic, not unless she completely—"

"Completely possessed the magic user in question." Alistair had said from the door, startling the other two, and Reilly looked disturbed behind him.

"But wouldn't that require her to be—be...sort of...eaten?" Reilly looked sick.

"Only her heart, Eire." Rhys answered, "And not necessarily literally."

"Because that makes it so much better..."

"You don't think she'd try to take over Anne's...is what she has magic?" Rhys continued.

"It is unlike ours, to be sure. Anne wouldn't call it magic; she never did."

"No, she lops it all under science."

"Whatever she calls it; it's her magic." Arthur insisted, peering at his phone when it pinged an incoming message. _Another message from Texas, but at least beneath the boy's threat, he seems to be giving me the benefit of the doubt...for now._

"Point is, we need to get her back to her proper time, as soon as we can."

"Tricky with all the interference, though." Reilly spoke next.

"I may or may not have a plan."

"May or may not?" Alistair raised an eyebrow.

"My past self has created a message for me to find. Rather interesting, really; despite how sketchy it came in. But in a dream-state, I'd packed one of my old journals. In it, my past self had left a message. I've apparently been carrying it for weeks in my bag, tucked away until I _remembered_ to find it."

"Oh? And what did it say, eh?"

"A coded message that I must decipher." Alistair grumbled at his eldest brother, but Rhys only shrugged. "Perhaps I was worried that none of our secrets or messages were safe from prying eyes. It will take me only a short while to translate what I've written, only because it has been so long since I've had to use this particular dialect; it no longer exists, you see."

"Let's not waste any time then." Arthur concluded.

In the Past:

Anne had found herself rarely left alone. There was always someone with her and today it was her Uncle Reilly. He seemed keen to chatter the day away using her as reason to skip his duties. Anne thought it was hilarious. For all her Uncle was an easy-going sort of person, he was as responsible as his kin, completing his tasks before relaxing. Perhaps it was age. Perhaps all at this age, semi-immortal or not, tended to value their free-time over responsibility. Well, except her father, who seemed to always be a responsible type, even if his brand of humor in this time was more apparent. It was nice, however. This time she accompanied him through the gardens where he pointed out the various "secret" passages, which had led where, be it exits and entrances to the castle, other gardens, and the one that led to the dark forests. That came with a warning; while not forbidden, she should not enter without one of them with her. The forests were full of fae, ones that would spirit her away, and other dangerous things.

Anne didn't think she'd venture into the forest, she tired so easily now that hiking, as much as she loved to, was too much for her low energy reserves. It was like having the flu; the fatigued, achy feeling ever present, down to the bones. But the intrigue was very much there. An itch in the back of her mind, calling out. It was annoying enough that she wanted to march over and shout for it to shut the hell up; her mind was busy enough without an extra voice to make it louder. But for all her avoidance of anything supernatural, because it was damn scary, she wasn't a moron. She'd seen the horror flicks.

You don't follow the voice into the creepy dark woods. Especially if you are a blonde.

That's a sure way to get yourself killed. That's how the idiots in the movies die. Always. And blondes always had the worst luck. So nope. Not doing it. No matter how insistent and loud the voice at the entrance to the forest drowned out her Irish uncle's explanation of dark creatures he'd encountered. _Can he not hear the voice?_ Anne glanced his way. It didn't appear that he did, or he was very good at ignoring it. Anne shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time she'd heard ominous voices or sounds come out of a place.

Her nation was full of foreboding things; restless spirits and ghosts, places of power that drew in the strange and frightening. The lands had so many spirits, ancient and young, that moved freely throughout the trees. The trick was to not get on the bad sides of these things. Treat these sacred places with respect, or avoid them all together, and you could generally avoid being cursed by something with a chip on its shoulder.

And there seemed to be so many different creatures here. They reminded her of the little fairies that milled about her father's ship during her first trip, but these were different, and they kept to the shadows. Watching. Silent. But they meant her no harm, her Uncle Alistair had told her when she'd pointed them out. They enjoy the potent energies of Camelot, he said. It was rare to have so many personifications in one place after all; especially magically-inclined ones.

It made her wonder then, why she had never spied these creatures before. It was so very strange. As a small child, when her father carried her aboard his ships to explore them, she didn't remember encountering the creatures her father told her about. Didn't find any in his home. Or the Kirkland castle. Didn't catch too late any little creatures at any world meetings. The only things Anne had ever been able to see were the nature spirits that lived with trees, seen Coyote and Raven, had terrors of old war ghosts that didn't have anywhere else to go. Not her father's magical friends.

So why can she see them now?

Was it because of her time travel?

Was it because of her being in the past? It was certainly a question for when she returned. Her father had so wanted her to see the things he could see. Maybe now, having seen them, even if it is only temporary, he could tell her about them. At the very least, she procured an empty packet of parchment that she'd meticulously bound into a little book and sketched the little creatures she'd seen. Her drawings were always a little too flat and scientific to be considered an art, but if she could somehow carry this wither her, well, it would be a memory for them all.

If she survived this.

Anne tried not to think of it as often as she could, trying to distract herself with other matters, such as her research on time with Uncle Rhys, but it was always there. A dark shadowed form that pulled on her shoulder as if to draw her back into the veil.

_You're dying_, it would croak. And she knew that it must be acknowledged as her current reality, but…Ah, but, dying, truly dying had never been so close before. Is this what humans felt everyday; those that acknowledged their own mortality? Death was imminent for all creatures, even them, but for a nation, time was as relative as it was slow. Especially because they could die over and over and still come back strong. They were near immortal.

Humans didn't have that luxury. From when they are born, growing, they are also dying. Some sooner than others. And just as they live once, they die once. There was no coming back from death as a nation would.

And Anne knew, if she died now, there would be no coming back. There would be no travel to her time. She would never see her siblings again, she'd not see her uncles, and there would be no Texas, no Molossia to greet her in their funny ways.

And there would be no Arthur. She would not see him, her father, as she knew him, ever again. She would be denied the joy and comfort of his hold, his words, and heavy hand upon her head to tell her, yet again, that everything would be alright.

This would be it. Over, if she wasn't careful.

And suddenly, there were so many things she wanted to do again. Camping with Tex, gardening with Molossia, surfing with Aus and Zea. Videogames with Peter. It had been forever since she'd been pub crawling in Ireland. _Christmas_ with everyone! That morning of breaking the crackers and wearing the paper crown; that was always Father's house because it certainly wasn't an American thing.

And she'd promised, _promised_, Mattie that they'd spend a week together before all the holiday rush. They couldn't decide what to do. Matt thought a trip to the mountains (_Snowdonia, eh?_) would be good, but Anne knew he had yet to experience the joys of _Disneyworld_. A travesty, really. Who doesn't love Disney? She had _Brave_ themed mouse ears! She still needed to show them off to her Uncle Alistair, who would snort and tease, but secretly loved anything she did that was even remotely Scottish.

"Lass?" Anne jolted from the touch on her shoulder.

"Pardon me; what did you say?" she blinked.

"Nothing, really. Lost ya for a second though, didn't I?" Reilly gave a lopsided grin.

"I'm so sorry. My mind doesn't usually wander so much." Her uncle only shrugged and kept walking forward, when the voice from the dark woods became stronger; insistent. Anne glanced in its direction and tugged in her uncle's sleeve. "Do you not hear that?"

"Hear what?" he looked over.

"That voice coming from the forest."

"Voice from…from there?" he pointed, looking pensive, but Anne didn't notice.

"Yes…it's…"

"What is it saying?"

"I…I think it's asking something."

"Oh?"

"It's saying…_whose blood upon the stone…has wrought …ye….higher…..shall…shall reap ye of all…_I can't make out the last, but it sounds like _joy_." Anne startled as her Reilly suddenly tugged her towards the castle without another word.

OoooH, scary! And I have no idea where I am going with this. I have officually gone way off course from the original plan of this story, but I hope you guys are enjoying it!


	7. Chapter 6

Sorry! 

* * *

Ch. 6:

Reilly paced back and forth across the throne room after taking his niece back to her room, confused as to what was going on, but luckily for her uncle, her ladies-in-waiting had provided excellent distraction. He slipped away and hoped to find his brothers, but they all seemed to be out and about. Something was truly amiss, all the signs pointed to it, and the Irishman hated things like this. Honestly, it was like bad luck tormented them every few years. Couldn't the cosmos take a fucking break? Why them? Ever since their mother died it was as if the world was out to get them; out to tear them apart. And for the life of them, they could never seem to agree on a course of action. They could barely agree on breakfast! Perhaps their mother was lucky in that she never had siblings to contend with. In times ancient to them, birth, _people_, were scarce. Not like now, where kingdoms flourished with grand populations. Life was hard, but also simpler too.

Is this what the future held? Eire already found it all exhausting. What good came from neighboring kingdoms built by family when there was so much in-fighting anyway? Rhys insisted that they stick together; that it was important to the future. Eire scoffed in his pacing. _It was easy for Rhys to be so. He didn't have to sail the channel to be a part of their group!_

Even so, his sweet, little niece was here. And it came with joy as it had foreboding. The predicted storm was one that was designed to break them apart; sever their familial connection to one another. His runes spoke of it. And while little Anne moved with the assurance of a warrior, she was so very weak now; it was obvious to him. Perhaps not so much to the others, convinced that they had time, but Eire could see the signs.

She was fading. Her natural, magical protection that came with being a member of their bloodline was barely a flicker of power. She was defenseless; at least against magic. She tried to mask it before them, he knew, but he also saw the exhaustion, the aching, and the melancholy that was beginning to surround her. As if she were resigned to her diminishment. He could only hope she did not lose hope; did not lose faith in their ability to protect her, before the darkness took hold and consumed her.

It was the heavy weight of death. It was what happened to their mother. She used all of her power to protect her children; to drive away Rome. She had lost connection to her own people. That darkness severed her from the power of her land and blood, until the darkness took her too. Weighed upon her as a cloak, and she knew, and she accepted. Only asked that they take care of one another; be kind to one another. And perhaps at first they tried, for her memory, but they'd never been…well, tactile or soft-spoken, with anyone really, let alone each other. Eire briefly wondered if this would be a catastrophic failing of their bloodline. If what was happening with their niece was some manner of sign of their ultimate doom.

"You lack faith in us as a family, Eire." Reilly startled as Rhys stared solemnly at him. The Irishman scowled and straightened his posture.

"Can you blame me? And who said you could pilfer 'round my head, eh?"

"You lot make it ridiculously easy what with the way you seem to cast out every thought. Any empath would be able to discern your thoughts." Which only made Reilly pout harder and Rhys sighed, "I am sorry, brother. I do not mean to be so callous with my ability. I am just…concerned when such morose feelings waft from my kin. I feel the need to act as brotherly as all of you seem exasperated by."

"'Tis not…not exasperating…we just…we're not so wee anymore, are we? No need to coddle." Reilly hated when Rhys did this; made everyone uncomfortable with his gentle gestures and prying nature. They weren't little children anymore; they were seasoned fighters, with their own kingdoms!

"Not coddling, simply care. Is that so bad?" Rhys had patted his brother's head, as he had done for Alistair not too long ago, smiling at the flush that spread across Reilly's cheeks. _Alright_, Eire thought still pouting, _Alistair, Arthur, and he were not particularly affectionate, but Rhys was. But Rhys had always been the strange one in their family._ Eire ducked out of the way and regarded Rhys a moment before speaking again.

"Our lass isn't doing so well, brother." Rhys blinked and his brows furrowed.

"Has she fainted again?"

"No, she is mostly fine."

"Aside from the obvious cause, why would you think—"

"I just know, alright? 'Tis…'tis the same as with mother. The connection to her people is gone and it is taking its toll upon her. As we already knew, but I fear we have less time that we realize." Rhys nodded, agreeing.

"But that is not what disturbs you now is it?"

"She's hearing voices." Eire rolled his eyes from his brother's raised eyebrow, "From the dark forest."

"What did it say?"

"_Whose blood upon the stone has wrought ye higher shall reap ye of all joy_; it said"

"Foreboding…and over-dramatic." Rhys huffed.

"This is serious!"

"Indeed. And we shall be prepared."

"How can we prepare for what we cannot know, eh, wizard-man?" Rhys' mouth tightened at the nickname, but he recovered fast.

"Why do you not trust that I have a plan?"

"Oh? What plan is that?"

"We keep little Anne close; she is safe inside the castle. And while it is absolutely necessary to send her back to her time, it doesn't mean we cannot employ _outside_ help."

"And who do we know that could possibly help us? Certainly not Norge; his magic is very different, and don't forget he doesn't like you."

"I was talking about us."

"I don't understand."

"I've sent a message to the future, hopefully found, that will aid us in our spellcasting. When they cast to pull her back, they will employ their powers and, I'm hoping, future knowledge and ability to keep her safe."

"You are taking great risk with that."

"How so?"

"You are assuming that we are allies in the future."

"Why would we not be?"

"Don't pretend to be a moron, brother." Alistair said from his leaning position in the door. Arthur stood behind him, looking pensive. "We've already gone to war with one another before. Even faced each other on the battlefield."

"Are you saying that even if we _were_ warring with each other, you would abandon your kin to her fate?" Rhys challenged.

"I—no! Of course not." Alistair grumbled.

"You sure about that?" Arthur grouched and Alistair threw a candlestick at him.

"Yeh stop trying to villainize me!"

"You are also assuming that this message you have sent will be found." Eire continued.

"Oh it will be."

"And who are we the be sure that our own strengths have not waned in time to come?" Arthur asked. "According to Anne, we are much older in her time. Centuries will have passed by the time she is born; centuries more until she is grown."

"And yet, you were still strong enough to sire her; to raise her to independence." While true, Arthur couldn't help the slight flush at his brother's turn of phrase. Siring was a…an intimate concept. And he was…was still young even if not untouched. The idea of paternity was still…difficult to take in. It was no small feat to be sure. One he had not considered and now that he knew…

He has accepted that he will be a father someday. It was to be. And everything that comes with it. His child was in danger. It was up to him to protect her.

In the present:

Mathieu felt the need to start keeping tabs on all the favors he was now owed. He'd been mediating between so many governments, trying to be reassuring to Japan who somehow heard that _something_ had happened to his American friend, flat out lying to his Papa who Matt was sure knew he was lying, getting dismissive responses from his kin across the sea, and now, there was a Texan seated on his couch glaring at him. Maple, he did not deserve this.

"If you know something…"

"For the hundredth time, I do not. I know as much as you. America seems to have caught some manner of illness. She's in quarantine which, _obviously_, means she can't travel or have personal contact, it could spread whatever she has."

"So, what, they bar her from technology too? We have these wonderful things called phones! They won't let her call? If you ask me, its sounds an awful lot like kidnapping." Matt felt his eyebrow twitch.

"Ever occur to you that perhaps her symptoms may hinder communication? Maybe she is on a ventilator. Or delirious. Hmm?" That seemed to sober the Texan.

"Then an official statement? Why hasn't that happened yet? A doctor's note? A goddamn picture of her in hospital? This is suspicious!"

"No, you are finding it suspicious when it isn't! You're trying to make some kind of conspiracy! Very irresponsible for international relations." But Matt deflated a bit at the unimpressed glare aimed at him. He sighed. _Americans._

"No, it _is_ suspicious. Especially because everyone is deflecting so much. The only reason I'm not storming over there is because I am trying to give that Englishman the benefit of the doubt."

"And because your government won't let you travel there." Matt said under his breath and caused the Texan's face to twitch.

"And yet, here I am, huh? I _could_ go there; this is me being diplomatic. A rarity for me, I'll give you that, but it's happening. And you what? A little transparency would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Coming from a U.S. rep," the Canadian nodded towards his guest, "Is a little heavy-handed, don't you think?"

"Alright. I played nice, but clearly you know nothing."

"No, I know what's going on."

"Do you though? Or is it just what _he _told you too? Just so trusting that what he is saying is the truth, but you haven't heard from her either, have you? No official word or anything."

"He has no reason to lie to me." Matt felt his anger spike.

"So, you believe he told you everything? He trusts you that much. About where she is and all? He let you speak to her?"

"He said she would when he found her!" Matt snapped, but the Texan just stared hard towards him.

"Why would he have to _find_ her, if she is sick in a hospital?" Matt found himself cursing in every language he knew. He fell for it; let his emotions get the better of him. And the Texan was sharper than he let on. You could hardly believe it with the cowboy hat perched on his head and elaborate boots. Matt had worn a simple, professional suit to their meeting. Texas had waltzed in wearing jeans, western working shirt, and oversized belt buckle. It was ludicrous! And now, he felt foolish. It was planned; to throw him off.

"Thank you for your time." Was all the cowboy nation said before he rose, tipped his hat, and stalked out of the room. Matt took a few deep breaths before pulling his phone out and sending an apology to England's phone; there might be a Texan on the way. He needed some emergency flapjacks with extra maple syrup…mixed with whiskey.

Meanwhile, the Texan personification sent out a mass text: _All hands on deck. We goin' across the pond!_ And he smiled when a flurry of replies rolled in – Hawaii, Alaska, Molossia, and California gave varying responses of support. It was time to mobilize Team U.S.A. Texas flipped his phone whistling a merry rendition of "Ready to Die."

Elsewhere:

Arthur chucked his phone across the room with a loud curse. He should've known this would happen eventually. Rhys just raised an eyebrow and continued his translation of his notebook. He huffed again.

"What, idjit? What has your knickers in knots?" Alistair glared from his spot.

"That was Matthieu."

"And that upsets you? Thought the boyo was the favorite?" Reilly piped in.

"I don't pick favorites." Growling when his brothers only snorted. "He sent a text. Apparently, he was visited by Texas and accidentally let it slip that Anne was missing. He might be heading this way."

"Shit. So call the government. Bar his entry."

"Because that won't make this more suspicious? And if I were to request that, then I will have to explain to our own government what is going on. Which will alert her government! We've managed to avoid an international incident thus far by keeping others in the dark!"

"Don't get hysterical. His government could stop him before he even flies here." Rhys admonished.

"You honestly believe that?"

"I've been trying to be more optimistic."

"And how's that working, wizard man?" The tallest sneered.

"Referring to olde nicknames, little brother?"

"Only because I almost forgot that silly name you called yourself back then!" Alistair chuckled.

"I remember better than most of you. Shall I remind them then, Alba, of that night I found you outside the great hall, drunk, wandering about, with—"

"Fine! Sorry!"

"No no, do tell." The Irishman sidled up to their eldest, but Rhys shrugged him off.

"Damn it all, can we focus? Texas is coming! Here! The only thing he will do is get in the way! We cannot afford distraction."

"Fine. I agree. But we cannae stop it without compromising everything else. Besides, it'll take time anyway. And how would he know where we are in the country."

"Uh….oh…well…" Reilly muttered.

"Reilly?" Rhys turned to him.

"Well, the boy follows my Facebook…"

"You _have_ a Facebook?"

"You mean _you_ _don't_?"

"Eire!"

"Fine! I may have snapped a photo of you two," he nodded towards Alistair and Arthur, "when fightin' in the dirt and posted it. The location was tagged."

"Eire." Rhys sighed.

"Sorry."

"Well, that's that, then."

"No, Rhys, it isn't! If he gets here in middle of our spell, he could destroy everything!"

"Don't be so dramatic. And give the boy _some_ credit. Maybe he will listen to reason and stay out of the way."

"Yeh really _are_ trying to be an optimist. I'll tell yeh; it's strange coming from you." Rhys turned indignant toward the Scotsman who only shrugged.

"I'm sure the boy can be reasoned with, after all, he has gone this long without trying to tear down our walls."

"I don't share your confidence."

"Have faith." The others simply groaned.

Elsewhere:

"You know, I'm actually surprised they allowed travel at all." A tall brunette examined people passing by with their luggage towards the security checkpoints. "But still, why wouldn't they let us all go?" They glanced at their brother expectantly as he examined his ticket again. "You know you don't have to print the boarding pass anymore; you can use your phone. It's an app for the airline you use."

"I prefer paper, alright. And I already told you, we can't all go because of _diplomatic relations_."

"More like, they're afraid of the trouble we could get into. You shoulda told them I could keep Hawaii in check."

"You're more trouble than Hawaii, Cali."

"And _you're_ more trouble than me, _Tejas_!" The cowboy nation only grinned.

"Then I'll be sure to send our regards." California only snorted _'you watch too much Game of Thrones._

"How long you been wanting to say that?"

"All week!"

"Whatever. I'm buying my own ticket, with my own money; gov ain't got say in personal travel. Hawaii and Alaska might stay put and stew, but I'm all about action. So, give me some time to avoid the peanut gallery, and I'll be there to back you up."

"Thanks, but I could also use you to keep an eye on Molossia. He's been moping around since the big boss denied him travel."

"Now I have to buy _two_ tickets?"

"What're you complainin' for, Hollywood?" California only tsk-ed in annoyance. "Fine, I'll watch after the little cactus, but once we meet up, it's game time."

"I understand. Thanks for your help, hermano."

"Yes, yes. No need to get all gushy on me. Go before you miss you flight. I gotta pack _and_ track down the kid now."

"See you on the other side!"


	8. Chapter 7

Guys! GUYS! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They really do wonders for me and my self-esteem! And to the reviewer who compared me to Apple, I did take inspiration from their work and I am very flattered for the comparison, but I am no where near as good as they are! There is so much more detail that goes into their story!

And, lucky me! The writing juices are still flowing so far! So, I managed to pop out another chapter (mostly I'm just avoiding all the legal work I am supposed to be working on). And clearly I've been watching too much of one of my favorite BBC shows, "Call the Midwife", and listening to the soundtrack, because this ended up being a really, really mushy chapter. I dont regret it, because it is moving the story along nicely! And it gave me an interesting opportunity to finally introduce the antagonist, with something dark to follow the sweet stuff.

Also, to the reviewer who gave the idea of Arthur freaking out over finding out him having many children - I like the idea! I think it'd be funny and I'd love to try it. Rather I feel like Alistair would spit his drink out and probably never look at Arthur the same! (Like, _"yeh fertile fucking bastard, you!"_) Not 100% sure when, but if I can do it, then I'd be happy to.

Also, some other Arthurian history there, mostly sourced from things like "Historia Brittonum" (Nennius), "Historia Regum Britanniae" (Geoffrey of Monmouth), and the "Annales Cambriae". Interesting stuff, but pretty much all pseudo history. And I did NOT go back and read these before writing this, it is pretty much all memory, so it may be wrong. Historically and psuedo-historically speaking. But I try my best.

Thank you!

Ch 7:

Anne was seriously starting to get pissed at the voice that slithered in from the forest. It would _not_ shut up! Heaven's sake, it was hard enough to sleep as it was! She had the greatest urge to just walk in there and just punch, no, _stab_ whomever or _whatever_ was causing all the racket. She was exhausted, damn it. And every day, on the rare occasion she could wander the castle alone, though not really alone because, apparently, she'd been assigned guards and her ladies followed her everywhere, her family reminded her not to enter the forest without them. Feeling challenging, Anne finally asked if one of them _would_ accompany her through the dense trees and was met with resistance and excuses – _far too much to do_. Not that she'd have the energy for such a long hike.

It was hard not to be spiteful. It was hard not to feel trapped. And it was even harder not to feel scared. Plugging her ears didn't stifle the voice that seemed to somehow float inside her head, and with it came dark dreams. Nightmares filled with bloody, raging battles. With dragons roaring, stone giants shaking the earth, and eyes that seemed to void into themselves within murky depths. And a cackling laugh seemed to make her core shiver. Anne didn't think she'd been this afraid since one of her diplomatic visits to London, during the war, before her people joined in. The air raids. Having experienced one herself…Her father may have pulled her out of it to get underground, but the moment…it sticks with a person. It took everything to keep her voice from shaking, to steady her hands, and assure that America would join the war and save the day; _piece of cake, I'm the hero, after all!_ He only gave her a flat look, nodded, and moved on. _God, that war had been awful_. _Every war was awful._ And every now and then, a loud sound would still make her jump.

But this fear was different. It was worse. Because she felt so _weak_. It had made her angry at first, maybe bitter, but now…it was like facing down a plague befallen the tiny wood forts. An invisible enemy, and she being only an ankle-biter, having no idea why everyone was dying so quickly, and could do nothing to stop it. Only feeling with each death, her own drew closer. What was a personification without people to represent?

Gasping as she sat up, Anne vaguely heard the howling outside gusts, immediately thinking of the monsters that were currently plaguing her dreams. What if they were real too; like the fairies? Were they out there now? It was cold, even with a healthy fire still going. Someone must be tending it, which meant she should feel _safe_. Why couldn't she stop shaking?

And, damn it all, why won't the voice just _stop_? It was going to drive her insane. She was sure.

Flipping the heavy coverlet off she slid onto icy stone floors, finding her slippers, and shakily pulling her thick robe over herself. Taking a moment, she decided a blanket was in order as well. And made her way out her door, startling a guard—or knight, apparently keeping watch.

"My lady?"

"Bloody hell! Have you been out here this whole time?"

"I—of course, my lady. I am your guard." _Really, dude, you don't even sound sure why you're here._

"I see." She hadn't seen or met this one before. _Guess this is the night shift or something_. "What's your name?"

"Drystan." She thought he spoke as if his tongue were heavy. And tried to catalog the name in case she ever wanted to imitate the accent.

"I am Anne."

"Of course, my lady." It was quiet a few awkward moments, "Is…is all well?"

"Yes…no…I can't sleep."

"Shall I have your ladies fetch someone? The apothecary?"

"No, no that's alright. I just…well, I'm headed somewhere now, maybe it'll help."

"I've been commanded not to let you leave the castle." Anne's inner rebel screamed. _Deep breaths; stay calm. You don't even want to go out there yourself and get eaten by monsters._

"I'm not leaving the castle." She turned to march down the long hallway towards a massive chamber; the poor guard trailing behind, quietly trying to talk her back but not actually reaching out, allowed his taller strides to move around her.

"My lady, no one enters there, save his majesty."

"Drystan. I need to go in there, please don't get in the way."

"But the king…"

"I will take responsibility, alright. So, you may return to your post if you need, but I need to see him."

"Lady Anne…"

"I'm afraid right now. There is something dark…nearby. I'm afraid and I seek comfort from my kin." She marched past.

And while she could admit this encounter had eased some of the anxiety-filled adrenaline, she did not want to return to her room. Even with her ladies in the chambers nearby, and a guard at her door….no. You would have to drag her back right now. He had two guards at his large doors, curiously watching her exchange with Drystan as she rather stomped her way over. Glancing at the obviously older, seasoned soldiers she pushed the door slightly opened, as if waiting for rebuttal, but they had let her pass with mild amusement. _Too late to be embarrassed_, she supposed.

And she wasn't sure what she should feel exactly to find that her father was awake. Did he not realize what time—actually, Anne was unsure what time it was herself. Not as if there were clocks around. Could be early for all she knew. No, it was late; it was very late. And it seemed her father had always been quite the worker. It was where she got it from. For now, though, Anne felt a bit relieved. And he glanced up, surprised, and quickly stood. And the relief turned to dread. She did not think this through.

The person before her was her father, of course, but he was not her _dad_. Not yet. Wasn't the familiar apparition in the garden. This was just…her father-before-her-existence. It wasn't like her colonial days where she could simply cry aloud, and he'd come running to comfort her. Back when she could quite literally interrupt a war meeting because something had frightened her, and she wanted cuddles. This was essentially a stranger. She let loose a string of curses internally loud enough to drown out the voice…which was…silent. Did she shock the spectre in her head with her creative profanity? Or was it even still there? How strange! The moment she entered the voice had stopped. In fact, did it ever stay when her father was nearby? That was…interesting. She would need to tell Uncle Rhys about that…probably. She looked back up when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"—nne?"

"What?" she blinked. _Crap, I must've spaced out_.

"Are you alright?"

"I—I'm sorry."

"Might I ask what for?" the hand steadied her, but she was still trying to listen for the voice, so she just answered without thinking.

"I just…had a frightening dream, and…I was still hearing that voice. I was scared and I just—"

"…came here." For all his attempt to hide it, happiness seemed to spread across his features, but he cleared his throat and straightened. "Of course, of course. You are welcome to come here if you have need of me. You don't have to apologize for that." He led her towards what looked to be large, very cushy chairs. He straightened his own long tunic and robe before he sat down, gesturing she follow suit. "Why don't you tell me about these dreams?"

"There isn't much in the way of clarity; just flashes of scenes and moments." He nodded for her to continue. "There is…a battlefield and…well, a _battle_, obviously. Loud, bloody, and so chaotic. It's like I am standing there but cannot pick one direction to look. Just a stilted focus on moments; like deaths and all the macabre. And in the distance, there are…oh, you might think this ludicrous, but…there are dragons. Two of them. And these stone giants that wield these…clubs or other, swinging through the fighters. And the ground trembles, and its like air trembles too. And then I wake up. And the voice, the one from the forest, is always there, but…"

"But?"

"Its quiet now. I don't know why." She peered up to him, after spilling everything, to see a serious expression, eyes downcast in thought.

"It is…just a nightmare." _Wasn't it?_

"Or a memory."

"How could it be a memory? I think I'd never forget seeing _dragons_." He gave a slight smile.

"The battle of the hill. I and your uncles have all fought there. The final battle. One that has just brought us peace; or as much as we can get as of now."

"You fought stone creatures…and dragons."

"Ha. Not quite. We had fae to handle the fae, so that we could limit our use of magic until we found _her_. Y Ddraig Goch, or the Red Dragon, fought the other. Some far away one, we don't quite know its origins, only that she summoned it."

"_She_ being?"

"Morganna. She was once a friend to us; a student of the sacred magic, but she grew ambitious. Dived too quickly into the dark arts; corrupted her soul. She tried to destroy us to absorb our power. Thought she could _make_ herself a nation and immortal; like us."

"That wouldn't be possible."

"No, but she was willing to destroy everything to try."

"And you defeated her…and her army."

"Yes. And now we are trying to rid ourselves of her followers. It was why your uncle was sent to find you when you first appeared. We had thought perhaps she was up to something."

"But, you defeated her."

"But didn't kill. We had only managed to seal her magic, but she managed to escape death."

"Her _magic_ ability is gone then." Arthur grimaced.

"There are limits, but so long as she has followers, magic-wielding followers, she can still cause trouble for the kingdoms."

"I see. But that doesn't explain why I've dreamt a battle I was not a part of."

"I cannot say for certain as to why, but memories travel. Blood speaks. That is as much true as it is for the trees when they speak to one another."

"Do you think this…my coming here…has anything to with her?"

"I wish I knew." Arthur sighed, and Anne stifled a yawn. "Come and rest now. You need it." He stood, holding out a hand to her. Anne glanced to the door.

"I doubt I could actually sleep there tonight."

"Stay."

"You also should be asleep."

"I will rest. But for now, stay and sleep, and I shall guard you tonight."

"I…Thank you." Her shoulders sagged, weary. And she was exhausted enough to not argue further, allowing herself to be bundled and tucked, and soon after was fast asleep in blissful silence save the crackling of a hearty fire and the occasional scratching of a quill.

The next morning:

Alistair grumbled as he was let into the "kings' chamber", carrying a tray of food and the mildest ale they could find; something simple for the lass. It wasn't bringing it himself that bothered him; just his littlest brother marching into his own chambers in wee hours of the morning and demanded he bring Anne breakfast. _Have them make something simple. My daughter had a troubling night._ He spoke with authority and then without even a how-did-you-sleep-big-brother, like a respectful sibling ought to his elder, the arse turned on his heel and left. Didn't even close the door behind him; the little brat! Let a draft in! Not even a thank you from his brother as he walked in…didn't even tell him that the little lass wasn't even in her own chambers. He had to find out from a tired, flustered Drystan that she'd helped herself to the king's chambers. And Alistair stood there looking like an idiot. And Drystan, the poor boy, asked who exactly _the lady_ was and why she had such free reign about; she must be important; _is she an immortal witch too, m'lord? Like you?_ Alistair still didn't like the fact that the people knew what they were, but still, it was amusing to see the young man trip over himself when he explained that Anne was his niece; the king's daughter. Practically anguished about how he didn't know and how rude she must've thought him for not recognizing her. Alistair had laughed it off and dismissed the young knight to go sleep; no sense guarding an empty room.

Even so, his brother had said _my daughter_. He took to it seemingly so quickly. He stepped closer to the bed where Anne was settled, sleepily explaining her dream to a serious Rhys who nodded and 'hmm-ed' at the right time; clearly already aware of the details, probably from Arthur, but listened to her nonetheless. He was holding a steadying hand to a steaming cup in hers as she gestured about dragons, to which the Welshman smiled a bit. Dragons were his elder brother's favorite subject.

"But how did you convince a dragon, _a dragon_, to fight for you?"

"Drink that," he nodded to the cup, "and I'll tell you." Anne scrunched her nose at it. "I promise it'll help." Of which the lass clearly didn't believe for a second, but apparently, for the sake of dragons, she drank the tincture as fast as she was able. Poor thing. _Must've tasted something terrible_, he thought as she gagged, relinquishing the cup as quickly from herself as possible. _Well, Alba to the rescue then_.

"Wash it all down with this." He placed a tray over her lap, "Porridge with honey, ale, and some fresh berries. It'll be much better than whatever that potion was."

"Thank you." Anne said, still grimacing, but was able to enjoy her food. Rhys scoffed at his younger brother but turned back to her.

"See? Better."

"Dragons." Was her reply between bites.

"Right." He chuckled, "Y Ddraig Goch has lived among my kingdom for quite a while you see, and while living with a dragon is perilous enough, because that dark witch summoned the white dragon from far off lands, we had pleaded to the Red Dragon for aid. We've a long-standing agreement between us, you see. We offer sustenance and not attack, and he'll partake and not attack back. We had simply…made a deal to not kill one another."

"As one does with a dragon, of course." And Rhys laughed.

"Yes, well, having another dragon appear and threaten his claim over a rather fruitful island for himself, it was not hard to call him into action. And once the white dragon had been defeated, he did not stay to assist further in matters he didn't feel the need to be a part of."

"Probably the safest outcome, all things considered."

"You seem skeptical."

"Its hard to imagine just sitting down with a giant red _dragon_ and just _have a conversation_."

"Oh, the _conversation_ was no garden party, let me assure you." Arthur scoffed while both his brothers outright laughed. "More like one irritatingly long, unnecessarily complicated riddle. Endless back and forth and speaking in circles! And this dragon is ancient, my dear. It knows things we may never and that makes him cunning and shrewd."

"And that's not counting the keeping on yer toes to avoid being set ablaze!" Reilly having heard the tail end of the conversation joined in.

"Yeh were barely there! Yeh kept to the back!" Alistair shouted back.

"Well, I'm not an idiot, unlike you. I know how to stay alive."

"Aye, by lettin' others take the fall."

"The point is—it was no easy task." Arthur passed the two redheads from his desk to sit on the other side of Anne. "But we won. Hard fought, but victorious."

"And here you are." She smiled, grinning wider when he returned it.

"And here we are."

Elsewhere:

A frayed woman started dispassionately as the young man before her crumpled to the ground. He'd been complaining for hours that he could take no more. _Weak, little thing_. She wondered idly, as the boy-magician on the ground shuttered and gasped for breath, his magic fading as dying embers would, that if her followers were as weak as this, then perhaps it was no wonder that she'd lost the war. Of course, she had also never expected the brothers to fight so well together. In all the years she had known Arthur, all he had done was complain about them, his three elder brothers. They were mean-spirited, he said; they didn't like each other; they had their own kingdoms. They'd fought each other in wars! So, while it had been only mildly surprising that the brothers had joined forces, as they had before for smaller skirmishes that they had vested interests in, they spent majority of their time fighting one another.

It was silly. And they were foolish. They didn't deserve the powers gifted them. And yet, the cosmos delivered it to _them_ anyhow. But never matter. She wasn't finished yet. She had Seer that gave her so many precious insights. The idiot had died in the war, but she had all the information she needed. Arthur would learn soon that his power would wane. As prophesized. A child, a future child, would be even more powerful than he.

But she couldn't wait for however long it took for the dammed child to be born. So, she had the boy bring her here, the bonny thing. Laying claim to the child's power would be simple enough, it was only a matter of timing. And with that power, she could defeat Arthur…_and_ all his brothers. A grand, unified kingdom for herself. Powerful enough to even revive her stupid, precious child. _Mordred._ _What a disappointment, but far from useless._ _But…first thing is first._ She glanced down at the exhausted boy at her feet. He had been one of Mryddin's brightest pupils once. And his power was now hers.

"My lady, Morganna…" the child-mage's throat was scratchy. A few weeks rest and offerings would replenish his magic. Sadly…._or not_…he would not need to do either. His dark brows furrowed at the sight of her blade, the question at the back of his weary throat. And she brought down the weapon, ignoring his cry, and did nothing to stop the life that flowed from his mouth, eyes wide at seeing his own heart in her hands. His last vision that of a once more powerful witch, eat her fill of all that was left of him.


End file.
